


Idylls of the King

by canis_m



Category: Juuni Kokki | Twelve Kingdoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domestic, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Intimacy, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-12-14
Updated: 2010-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 13,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21796177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canis_m/pseuds/canis_m
Summary: Collected short fics, drabbles, and fragments centered on the Kingdom of Tai. Originally published on LJ/DW from 2007 - 2010.
Relationships: Saku Gyousou/Taiki | Takasato Kaname
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	1. Table of Contents

As noted in the summary, this is a collection of previously published short fics, posted here for archival purposes. Each chapter is a single work, though some may be loosely connected. Length varies. I've tried to note those that are AU, but expect some canon divergence.

All are rated T-ish, and most are shippy to varying degrees. 8 - 16 assume an established physical relationship.

1\. Table of Contents  
2\. "Reprise" - If Taiki had been Gyousou's predecessor's kirin. AU.  
3\. "Cloak and Dagger" - The moments after choosing.  
4\. "Hoarfrost" - A frolic in the snow. AU?  
5\. "Cupbearer" - Hakkei Palace game night.  
6\. "Ugly Duckling" - A visit to the summer palace.  
7\. "Misstep" - An error, or perhaps the opposite. Post-restoration future fics begin here.  
8\. "Atari" - An archery session.  
9\. "Coupe Sauvage" - An ill-considered trim.  
10\. "Something Borrowed" - A stolen robe.  
11\. "Temperance" - A conspiracy in En. AU.  
12\. "Bodyguards" - Shirei on duty.  
13\. "Recess" - A study break.  
14\. "In Season" - A kirin-in-heat AU.  
15\. "Gifts" - Renrin recalls a visit to Tai.


	2. "Reprise"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Taiki had been Gyousou's predecessor's kirin. AU.

The day after the white pheasant cried, Taiki was wretched with the speed of his convalescence. Suddenly he could eat again, could sit upright for the duration of an entire meal, or walk as far as the bath and allow his mane to be washed for the first time in what felt like weeks. With the help of his attendants he was able to dress properly, in mourning robes, for the hour when General Saku came to call at Jinjuuden.

At his bedside the general genuflected. It had always seemed to Taiki, even through the worst of his illness, that the courtesy was offered as much in deference to his suffering as to his rank or his seniority. Taiki bowed his head in return, and the general seated himself in his usual chair.

"Taiho." The general studied him: the pallor that lingered in his face, the strange lesions already fading like old bruises. "I am glad to see you somewhat recovered."

The price of recovery had been too great for Taiki himself to welcome it, but he bowed his head again.

After a little silence the general said, "Forgive my intrusion. I will not tax you long. In the matter of selecting a regent who will serve until the new king can be found, names have been put forth."

Taiki looked at him without surprise. "Yours?"

The general straightened, if that were possible. His expression was stern, always so stern, though Taiki had seen him smile and even laugh, long ago. It seemed a very long time since anyone in the palace had laughed, at least in his presence.

"Mine is one of them. And that of the General of the Right."

"I see."

"When you are recovered enough to give thought to the matter, my lord, your counsel would be welcome."

Taiki let out a long breath. Whatever strength had been holding him upright seemed to ebb without warning, leaving him defeated and frail. He knew--he already knew, had known for days, since his first master had left the kingdom to tender his resignation at the center of the world, or perhaps even before then--and the scale of his own treachery staggered him, but here was the voice to which he must answer now. Bidding him to press on, regardless of his unreadiness. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.

"There's no need for a regent," he said quietly. "The king is here."

The general stared.

Gathering himself, Taiki slid his legs from under the bedclothes. He meant to kneel and perform the prostration--to submit out of sheer weariness and be done with it--but as he leaned forward his head swam and his vision darkened. He saw the general start in alarm, heard voices exclaiming somewhere far away.

When his vision cleared the general's arms were bracing him, easing him back into the bed. The strength in them was astonishing. Taiki found himself clutching feebly at one wrist, feeling tension under the heavy sleeve. "I'm sorry," he said feverishly, half-sensible. "I'm sorry, I can't--the vows--" He pitched sideways into the bedclothes, turning his head into the pillow with shame. His mane tumbled forward to cover what the pillow didn't. "I'm sorry. I should be calling you _Your Majesty."_

The strong arms continued to steady him. He couldn't see the face leaning over him, was afraid to look, but the general's voice when he next spoke was low, and so far from stern that Taiki could scarcely credit it.

"I have a name. Call me that, if you find it easier."

*

"If I ask too much, you must say so," said Gyousou, "but as to the vows. Would it pain you to have others witness them?"

They had told no one, and the days continued to pass for Taiki like an unsettled dream. At first he had taken the general's willingness to wait as a kindness, an allowance for his own receding illness and unreadiness, one he accepted with both gratitude and shame. It was not unknown for a kirin to wait before revealing the revelation, as En Taiho had done with King En--but for both the kirin and the new king to conspire in hiding it? He had never heard of such a thing. Nor was he eager to leave the matter unresolved for long.

Still the question gave him pause. He remained in seclusion at Jinjuuden, though he was no longer confined to the bedchamber; even now he and his new master sat in the main hall overlooking the garden. Certainly he was well enough to appear at court, and to manage the vows without falling over in a swoon, but he had never known the general to be a lover of spectacle for spectacle's sake.

He drew his hands into his sleeves. "If my lord prefers it--"

"If it were only a question of preference, I would sooner abide by your wishes. But there is more at stake." Gyousou leaned forward. "There are those among the senior officials who will not be pleased to bow before the likes of me. Likewise, there are those who think, though they do not accuse outright, that in my ambition I have taken advantage of your illness."

Taiki looked up. "What?"

A brief, flat smile. "To curry favor, if not to coerce."

Taiki let out his breath in a puff. It was baffling to him that anyone persisted in believing the will of Heaven could be bought, or that this man, of all men, would stoop to bribery. At a distance, before his interest became personal, Taiki had seen that whatever flaws the young General of the Left might possess, lack of uprightness was not among them. After decades at court he could not be much surprised that suspicions--however groundless--would exist, but he suffered a flare of indignation nonetheless. Indignation, and protectiveness on Gyousou's behalf. Even as it subsided the heat of it surprised him. I have made the vows already in my heart, he thought, with a pang that was part grief, part relief, and other things he could not have named. When had it happened? And if the vows were already made, what could the place of their utterance matter?

Aloud he said, "You wish there to be no possibility of doubt."

"None. That is one reason." It was Gyousou's turn to look aside. "I cannot deny I have wished you to think well of me. As well as a kirin might of one whose business is bloodshed--"

"Please," said Taiki. "My lord must not say such things. I have never despised the Shield of Tetsui."

"You're kind to say so," said Gyousou, and he laughed a little, although Taiki could not guess at what.

There was silence for a moment, until Taiki unfolded his hands. "'One reason,' you said."

"I did. It's foolish to waste the advantage of surprise when one has it. Even a cunning opponent may reveal more than he means to when he is taken aback. If you were to appear at the next council session, and make the pledge there, we could not ask for a better ambush."

"You hope to see who your true friends are, by how they react."

"Just so."

"But..." Taiki hesitated. He was as unused to being heeded as he was to speaking out. "Isn't it possible that those who have doubts at first may change their opinion?"

"Of course it is," said Gyousou easily. "I will not put anyone to the sword for failing to shout 'banzai,' or for shouting it too loudly, for that matter. There will be some of both. But it's better to have more intelligence than less."

"I see." And Taiki could see the wisdom in the principle. He thought for a moment. "It can't be easy to observe everyone at once in a room full of people. And meanwhile I will be looking closely at your shoes."

"Everything hinges on your willingness to look at my shoes," said Gyousou, smiling again--it was astonishing, how often he smiled now--"so please don't berate yourself for that."

"No, I only meant...it would be easier if you had more eyes." The old longing to be of use, of some small use to the man who was his master, stymied for so many years, came over Taiki like a fit of giddiness. He had been fearful: if a king who rose from the ranks of the administration had seen him as little more than decorative, even after he outgrew the helplessness of a child, how must he look to a soldier? But here was a way he might be of real aid. He turned his head and spoke softly to the air.

The general did not jump from his seat, or so much as flinch, when a dozen and more demons sprang out of hiding around him, but he went very still. His eyes went from wide to narrowed as he surveyed them, from the massive ruddy wolf sitting at Taiki's shoulder to the herd of hiso at his own feet. The hiso peered up at him in return, paws tucked to their breasts and round ears pricked. At length Gyousou sank back against his chair, shaking his head.

"I had heard of the toutetsu--everyone has. But I was not aware that you commanded an army. Great Heavens." He gave a soundless laugh. "What a wonder you are."

It was a long time since anyone had seen the full menagerie, or since Taiki himself had summoned them all at once. He felt almost abashed at the size of the horde.

"I was slow to learn the trick of taming them, when I was small, but once I did...." He trailed off. One of the hiso, Nikko, had hopped toward him and was pawing at the hem of his robes. Taiki leaned down and lifted the little youma onto his lap. "They keep me company. Not all of them make good spies, but Risshou and Kyouryo will. And Gouran, of course." He gestured to the red wolf looming by his side.

"Charmed, I am sure," rumbled Gouran to Gyousou, with a smile full of teeth.

Not again, thought Taiki--not when it was Gouran who set an example for the others. They must begin on a better footing this time. Establish the rules from the start. He schooled his face to be stern. "Gouran, you must show respect to the king."

Gouran only rumbled again, a laugh like mountains shrugging. "This one is not king yet."

*

He had prepared himself; he had believed himself prepared. But when the moment came Gyousou found he must be doubly grateful for the unseen spies, as he had no attention to spare for anyone else in the council chamber, no room in his field of view for anything but the bowed head, the dark fall of mane pooling about his feet as the Saiho of Tai knelt before him--before him--and performed the prostration, then spoke in that quiet clear voice the vows that acknowledged him as king.

Silence rang as if the air itself had been struck. A rush of fresh pride surged in him; he felt a towering sense of rightness, of vindication. For every piece of offered counsel that had gone unheeded, for every hour and day and year he had been made to stand by and grit his teeth as his liege lord strayed further from the path, this was his recompense. But at the same time some part of him, some long-formed habit of mind rebelled to see the Taiho so wholly lowered, and that mane--the splendor of the court, rarer by far than gold--spilled on the floor where so many feet had trodden. Perhaps he had watched that head bow too many times to one who had, in the end, made it bend not with reverence but grief.

It would not happen again.

"I accept," he said. Then he too bent, offering his opened hand, palm upward. Taiki lifted his head enough to look at it in surprise.

"You have my thanks," Gyousou said, adding in a voice pitched for only Taiki to hear: "Let us not risk any more fainting."

Taiki's face colored just the slightest, but he placed his hands--pale and fine, innocent of the sword if not the brush, a youth's hands still after a century and more--in Gyousou's, and Gyousou stood with a force that swept them both upright.

The speed of it all appeared to startle Taiki. He drew a swift breath and kept hold of Gyousou's hand. Then he steadied, and tilted his head toward the stunned assembly of ministers and generals who had convened--so they believed--to choose a regent, and only that. He did not quite frown, but his regard seemed to say: well? Your Saiho has bowed; why have you not done the same?

And they did.

*

It was nightfall before Gyousou returned to Jinjuuden across the palace grounds. Taiki had retreated hours before, pleading weariness--indeed he had begun to turn wan again after the first crush of congratulations passed. If he had retired for the night in earnest Gyousou did not mean to disturb him--their discussion could wait--but as he strode down the stone paths he felt as never before the absurd distance to Jinjuuden. Of course the pride of the realm must have a residence fit for his station, but what commander would install his best advisor on the opposite side of camp from his own tent? It was senseless. Something would have to be done.

The lamps were still lit in the hall. An attendant escorted him to the main chamber, bowing herself aside at the door. He entered, and was obliged to halt again almost at once by the pair of hiso that hurtled past his feet, leaping and chasing one another like frenzied wild rabbits about the room.

"Nikko, Rakko, behave yourselves," called Taiki, rising from where he sat at a table set with tea and sweets. He had exchanged his formal mourning dress for plainer robes of grey. Gyousou knew on whose account the change had been made; a kirin who had chosen a new king could not be seen to continue to mourn the old. He felt a beat of regret for having forced the shift so soon--too soon, perhaps. But the grey was not ill-suited, and less ghostly than the white had been.

"I'm sorry," Taiki was saying. "They've been like this all night. I think they're jealous of the big ones who were given a mission."

Smiling, Gyousou shook his head and gestured for him to take his ease. Now that the way was clear, he stepped forward and seated himself across the table. "You're not unwell?"

"No, I am well. It was just that I've been away from the thick of things for so long. I felt a bit overwhelmed." He offered to send for tea and more cakes, which Gyousou waved aside. "I'm afraid there's not much to report so far, even though my lord has come all this way. Of the shirei I sent out, only Kyouryo has come back--he was assigned to the Autumn Minister. He says the minister 'smelled nervous,' and after leaving the council hall went to meet with the Spring Minister in chambers. There was no treasonous talk as such, but they both expressed concern about keeping their positions."

"Rightly so," said Gyousou under his breath.

Taiki gazed at him searchingly. "Are they to be replaced?"

"The Autumn Minister, as soon as may be. That man is unfit to administer the law. Spring, well, we shall see how she does with the coronation on a budget reduced by half, and half again."

Taiki reached for his teacup and turned it in his hands, but did not drink. "My lord has been thinking on this," he said. "For some time."

There was no reason to dissemble here. "I have."

"Then you had some particular motive for asking me to set Gouran on the General of the RIght."

At that Gyousou had to smile, though it could not have been a pleasant one. "You are as quick as Seirai--one of my officers. I'll introduce you soon. But yes." He leaned back in his chair and laid an arm on the table, considering how much to say. "I would not wish my first gift to you to be a burden of undue cares." It would make a poor offering to one who had suffered cares enough. "If my suspicions are borne out, I will say more, that I promise."

Taiki nodded. "It surprised me--only because I'd never heard of any blemish on his record. Or that anything lay between the two of you but respect."

"Oh, his record is beyond reproach." Gyousou's eye fell on the two hiso, which had given up chasing and were now cuffing one another sullenly beneath a divan. " ...You may not know he is my brother."

Even those at court who knew that he and Asen shared a family name assumed coincidence; in the north Boku was common enough. Taiki blinked in astonishment. "Then I see there's a great deal I have to learn," he said at last. After another pause he added: "I had a brother, too."

For an instant Gyousou could only stare, until he remembered. "Of course--you were a Taika."

"It's been a long time since I thought of him. We were children together, in Hourai, but he always did blame me for everything that went wrong." There was no censure in the words, nothing but soft remembrance and a little rue.

Gyousou let out a short laugh. "Yours and mine should meet. It sounds as if they could be great friends."

"Mine would have passed away years ago," said Taiki. "In Hourai no one lives so long."

Which put paid to his laughter. Gyousou fell silent: it seemed he too had a great deal to learn. And a great deal of work to do, if he was to let the Saiho lay all his griefs to rest. He bowed his head. "Forgive me."

"No, no. It was long ago."

The silence continued until Gyousou flattened his palm on the table and stood. "It grows late. If I may call tomorrow morning...?"

As soon as he had spoken he recognized the gaffe, but Taiki lowered his eyes and gave a faint smile, the first Gyousou had seen from him since the passing of the old king. It seemed worth a hundred flouts to custom, to his own new-minted authority, if he might see it again.

"I think I must come to Master Gyousou, now, not the other way around."

And then his name, spoken in that voice, as if the smile alone were not enough. He waved a hand with more good humor than was necessary. "You've been ill. If I have you running ragged back and forth so soon out of bed I will be called a brute and a tyrant before the white pheasant has said a single word. Which reminds me: we must wait until you feel able to travel, of course, but I am ready to make for Mount Hou whenever you are."

He was aware of the contradiction in this speech, and could see that Taiki perceived it too, but the smile only grew a little crooked, and did not fade. "I believe one must consult the diviners, to find an auspicious day."

"Must one," said Gyousou, though he knew it was true. "I'm not much for superstition. But it shall be done as you say."

The pair of hiso had taken up their racing again. As Gyousou made for the door they came charging straight for his shins, and one after another piped _"Majesty!" "Majesty!"_ before swerving past. Gyousou turned briefly to look back at Taiki.

"Well trained," he said, over the feeble protests, and "Good night, all of you."

It occurred to him after he left the hall that he had not raised the matter of a name--but then again it would not do to seem precipitous. There was the morning yet, at any rate. He was still smiling when the lights of Jinjuuden vanished behind him in the palace dark.


	3. "Cloak and Dagger"

His fright never faded, exactly, but it receded enough for him to suffer small regrets along with the big ones. He hadn't thought to bring clothes. The cloak around him was strangely soft, wrapping him whole without chafing, covering him from shoulder to shin in a scent he barely knew.

It was not uncomfortable, being carried--swaying minutely to the beat of long keen strides--but fear roused in him that maybe this was wrong, too: being a burden to the man who was now the king. He clutched at Gyousou's armored shoulder. At close range the eyes that turned on him glinted so sharp with pride (and something else, something fierce like triumph) that Taiki wanted to cower into the cloak (though that too was Gyousou's) and be hidden. He licked his lips. It took a minute for his voice to work. He had said nothing yet since the vows.

"I...I could walk."

"With no shoes?"

The arms around him steadied their grip. Taiki lowered his eyes. The path was strewn with rocks and pebbles, debris, dung mementos of riding beasts that had lately passed.

"I could change back," he said. The chance to be serviceable encouraged him, eased his dread. "Then I'd have hooves."

"You've already given us a show for one night." Gyousou sounded ready to laugh, not with mockery but an excess of satisfaction. "It's all right. You don't weigh a thing."

That was the end of that. Taiki sank back into speechlessness, now and then casting glances at the troop of men who marched in file behind Gyousou. The moon had crept behind a mountaintop. In the dark Taiki could make nothing of the soldiers' faces. It seemed a very long way to Houro Palace. He huddled and tugged the cloak folds tighter at his breast.

Gyousou's pace slowed. The smile stopped hovering about his lips.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

For the length of a heartbeat before he shook his head, Taiki forgot his shivers.


	4. "Hoarfrost"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A frolic in the snow. AU?

He had passed through clouds, which breathed their dewy breath on his coat and mane, and then below the clouds into cold that froze the dampness to a faint sheen. It paled his caparison from red to dusty coral, his hide to middling silver from near-black. Silver, too, were the bells strapped to his fetlocks and sewn to the red silk cords around his neck. The cords looked like reins but were not reins. He had no bridle, no bit between his teeth. As he trod the air his bells sang shi-rin, shi-rin, with slim irrepressible sounds.

In circles he cantered downward. At the center of his spiral stood the king, alone on a white hillside, one gloved arm raised, like a falconer waiting for his bird to return to the fist. Taiki landed just in front of him, hind hooves first, then bowed and knelt in the snow. He pretended to lay an invisible branch at his master's feet, quivered, and sprang up so fast it shook the frost from his mane.

"Did I do it right?" It was strange, always, how his voice came out when he hadn't opened his mouth. If he thought about it too hard, he would go mute with awe at the mystery. Instead he pricked his ears toward Gyousou's face.

"You did."

"So I should do like that tomorrow, too?"

"Just so."

Taiki pranced in a tussle of jingling. He'd been so nervous about the parade; the year before he'd missed it while traveling from Ren. "Thank you--I'm sorry--thank you for practicing with me."

"It's no trouble. But I think you must be cold, even in that handsome getup."

His master's voice was warm. If he could have reddened, Taiki would have. Instead he arched his neck and pawed the snow. The air crackled with cold, but he hardly felt it, in the same way he hardly felt the drag of earthly weight or gravity. With a kick he could disown them and vault into the air. He danced backward. "Not very cold. Master Gyousou should keep wearing his cloak."

Gyousou stopped his fingers on the clasp, midway through undoing. His smile was crooked, difficult to discern. "Is that an order?"

"Eh? Ah--!" Horror scalded Taiki. He was ready to burst in protest when a gloved hand fell on his mane. After that weight came the swoop and settle of cloak around his withers, not long enough to hide the caparison, gray against bright red. Gyousou stroked the cloth smooth, fastened it around Taiki's neck. The motion roused the bell-cords to a diffident chime.

"Indulge me."

Taiki's ears trembled. He nodded, could not manage to speak. Gyousou made a low clucking sound, almost like a tsk.

"I shouldn't have teased you."

The tap to his rump floored Taiki. It was light, barely a pat, but he sprang forward, churning the snow with all four hooves. His bells jingled a grievance. His ears swiveled awry.

"Master!"

"There now. I hate to see you hang your head. Show me your paces one more time."

Hearing laughter in Gyousou's voice, Taiki blew out. He wasn't being reprimanded, that much he understood, but he wasn't pleased, either. He strode in a rising ring until his hooves no longer skimmed the highest drifts, and from there continued upward, speeding to a lope, a gallop, a skyward rush that plunged him within moments past the shoals of winter cloud. Hidden by their fog, he snagged his master's cloak between his teeth, tossed his head, slipped out of it like a cat from a collar too loosely buckled. It wasn't that he meant to be contrary. If the king insisted, he would never disobey.

Hoarfrost silvered him again on his descent. The bells announced his return. When he landed he laid the cloak in a bundle at Gyousou's feet. Gyousou said nothing, but in the thin air Taiki could smell his surprise.

"It's cold, so." His muzzle almost touched the snow. He did not look up. "I'm warm enough, so. Please? Master Gyousou should wear this."

Then he did look up. His master knelt, and the cloak billowed broadly as Gyousou lifted it from the ground.

*

They played on the hillside afterward, his master flinging wads of snow that spattered Taiki's haunches white. Taiki couldn't throw back, nor did his disposition lean to warfare, but he could dodge and duck. It was a pure, startling joy just to chase, to romp up and down the hill as if they were both foals, not king and Taiho whose duties lay in wait for them. Only on the downslope was there hidden ice.

Taiki lost his footing, went into a skid. If he had kicked upward he might have flown--instead his legs locked, all four of them, and with a cry like jangled windchimes he went tumbling. His caparison snagged on the burl of a half-buried stump. As he slid and kept sliding his momentum tore the cloth free. Then Gyousou was there, slipping on the bad patch himself, though when he fell he fell with purpose, into Taiki's path. Snow muted the impact. They flumped into one another. Taiki was so mortified he stopped flailing at once.

Gloved hands on his forelegs, then, up and down his shanks, and again the hands without the gloves, hotter and more sure. He quivered.

"Easy," said his master, and after that, in inward mutters, "what was I thinking. If you broke a leg."

"I'm all right, I--nothing hurts."

"Good." But the hands kept testing for soundness until the king was satisfied. With a slump Gyousou sat backward. He looked blandly down, wiped a bare thumb at Taiki's muzzle.

"Snow on your nose."

Until the mention of it Taiki hadn't noticed. Once made aware he had to struggle not to sneeze. He wriggled to right himself while his master's hands hovered, waiting for a chance to help. Gyousou continued to speak.

"When I first saw you like this. Do you remember?"

Taiki nodded. He remembered: his hooves on stone outcrop, the wavering fire, a circle of halted men all staring, only one of them clear in his sight. The stark smell of his own fear as he drew closer. As if he could forget.

"What a creature, I thought. Like heaven took the night wind and made it flesh." Gyousou let his hands fall; his eyes were not quite laughing. Now look at you, he did not quite say.

Amid the sneezing fit that seized him Taiki forgot to be bashful. It was much later that his ears started to flicker-- _night wind, made flesh--_ like the wings of moths too astonished to alight.


	5. "Cupbearer"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hakkei Palace game night.

It was a rare evening in Hakkei Palace when the king had an hour to relax, but when he did, it pleased him now and then to play a game of Go with one of his retainers. His best opponent was Seirai, who'd been playing him for years.

One night as they sat at the board, brooding over the stones, Taiki approached Gyousou's side with a cup of rice wine in hand. Gyousou accepted it. Seirai's eyebrows rose.

"What," said the king, not quite smiling.

"This is the task to which you set our Taiho?" Seirai turned to Taiki, tsking as if aggrieved, though his lips were crooked at one corner. "Taiho, you should protest on behalf of your own dignity."

Before the king could laugh and say _I never,_ Taiki spoke over him in a rush.

"But taking care of Master Gyousou is my job! Ren Taiho makes tea for King Ren--Seirai, don't you remember? I'm too little to be good at much else. At least I can do this."

The light in his eyes was adamant, but as soon as he stopped speaking, Taiki's shoulders drooped. Without setting down the cup, Gyousou reached for him and shepherded him close, coaxing, until Taiki was persuaded to hop up on the divan and sit within the purview of Gyousou's robe. Gyousou laid a hand on his mane where it spilled across his upper back.

"Don't sell yourself short. And never mind Seirai. He's only peeved you didn't bring wine for him."

"Oh," said Taiki, turning red. "I'll--"

"He can fetch his own. Here, now." Gyousou leaned toward the board. "It's time you learned something of the game."


	6. "Ugly Duckling"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the summer palace.

At the summer palace there were black swans. Taiki saw them first on a day in spring, before the palace was reopened, when his master brought him there to wander along the waterways and walkways, among halls that had been shut to the world for Taiki's whole lifetime. The waterside pillars were hewn of pale translucent stone, like milky quartz, that glowed when the noon sun struck it. Taiki stood beside one and laid his hand on it--to the touch it was so smooth it felt wet--as he watched the swans and their brood of hatchlings float unruffled along the canals. The cygnets were sooty, gawky, endearing things. The air smelled of lake and catkins and greening grass.

When the king asked how it suited him, Taiki said, "I should've brought paper, and my brushes." He pointed to the swans.

Gyousou smiled, surveying. His feet were planted apart with proprietary breadth. "Next time," he said, and as he spoke the swans changed direction. Their eyes gleamed like coral beads. "It's a crime to hunt them, did you know? They're auspicious birds."

"Really?"

"The black ones in particular."

Taiki wondered whether he was being teased. Even with his wits about him, he couldn't always tell. In either case he didn't mind.

They walked on, following the water's edge as the canal broadened into a winding lake. On the bank grew a stand of willows whose withes stroked the ground, leaves still more gold than green with newness. There was no sense in reopening the entire palace, Gyousou was saying--wasteful--but they might justify a hall or two, the employment of a few maids and manservants, a cook. We'll be roughing it, he'd said. Like camping, Taiki had said, and Gyousou laughed.

Between the willow boughs sunlight fell like a warm hand, broader and more southerly than the light in the capital. Taiki was conscious of his master looking not across the water, not at the swans or the paved terraces or the distant boathouse with its boarded doors, but at himself. It made him feel a weightlessness unfurling, as if he had wings to spread. The sky seemed near enough to tread on. He lowered his chin.

"I'd like to come and stay," he said.


	7. "Misstep"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An error, or perhaps the opposite. Post-restoration future fics begin here.

From the first night of Gyousou's return he and Kouri had slept in the same chamber, the same bed. Not out of necessity, perhaps, but for assurance, and to comfort a kirin who dreaded the thought of being parted again more than any other fate. Even a night was too long a separation, in Kouri's mind. Even an hour.

_The last time I lost sight of you, Master, I lost you for seven years._

And in that time the kingdom itself had been lost. So much ruin could have been prevented, perhaps, if only the king had had the wit to keep his kirin closer. Gyousou had failed in other ways--in too many--but this one was most readily amended. Kouri wanted to be near him. Heaven willed it so. He wanted the same.

Nearness brought with it other perils. Kouri had been dear to him: as a child, as the living embodiment of goodness and his kingdom, as the Saiho who was and would be his helpmeet throughout the years of his reign. Now Kouri was dear still, and no longer a child. He had grown into all the grace and strength Gyousou had foreseen in his child-self, along with wounds and grief and sorrow Gyousou had never hoped to see. He was beautiful. He was the most beautiful of reprimands, though there was no reproach in his eyes when he looked at Gyousou, no promise of reprisal. There was watchfulness, yes, and care. Faith and hope.

Trust, in spite of everything. According to him, their mutual betrayals had been unwitting. If they could not forgive themselves for their own failures--and Kouri was adamant that he, too, had failed, no matter how Gyousou tried to dissuade him--then let them forgive each other's, and rely on that forgiveness, and go on. There was too much to be done to dwell on self-blame. Those were Kouri's words. For the first time Gyousou thought perhaps he had been given to understand the true scale of a kirin's mercy, insofar as one could grasp the depths of depthless things: the sky, the sea. The heart.

He tested that lenience further every night. He was not so full of folly as to believe that he could share a bed with a creature both lovely and beloved--one grown to an age that would have made him fit for invitation, had he been merely human--and remain unaffected. He was affected. Worse, he had misjudged the extent. Even when they went to their rest with generous space between them, he would wake to find Kouri huddled against his side, breathing against his shoulder, and his own mouth pressed close to shorn dark hair. It was easy, in such moments, to disregard all else except the warmth between them, and remember only that Kouri had seemed to welcome every touch he'd ever offered, even now--especially now, since his return.

One morning in the darkness before dawn he did forget himself, forget everything they were other than dear to one another. They had drifted out of sleep in a warm huddle again, and Kouri was blinking up at him, soft-eyed, faintly sheepish, with such great sweetness that Gyousou could only bow his head to nuzzle the line of his brow and kiss it, not thinking of what else was there on his brow, or what should've been, until Kouri made a little sound. A catch of breath.

It was no different from the sound any boy new to love would make. The very sameness of it, the incongruity, struck Gyousou with remembrance like a faceful of snow. He looked at Kouri, whose eyes met his all unassuming, still soft, clouded with surprise or confusion, or perhaps a sort of wonder. No alarm. Gyousou stroked his hair once more, so as not to startle or unnerve him further with abruptness, then sat up and drew away to castigate himself in silence, and prepare for the day.


	8. "Atari"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An archery session.

When at last the harrowed kingdom began to recover, even to thrive again, the king began to permit himself some few indulgences, or some few beyond the nights spent with a cup of wine and his pipe and the company of his Saiho. Taiki was gladdened by it, even if his master's idea of self-indulgence was now and then to rise before dawn and set out for the palace archery range while the dew still lay heavy on the grass.

Taiki followed him there on such mornings, at first simply to be with him, and to watch. The art of the sword and the art of the bow were both beautiful as Gyousou practiced them--though the king counted himself merely middling at the latter--but there was a peace to the bow that the sword never had, Taiki thought. With the sword there must always be a clash, an opponent to strike, but in archery the only clash was with painted circles, fresh paper, frames of wood. There was no battle, no implicit threat of bloodshed, only the grace of the form, the pause at full draw, the release. The arc of the arrow in flight. The quiet of the heart, and the quiet exultation when the arrow went true.

From time to time members of the king's inner circle were invited to join the outings. Not Risai, since it would've been cruel to remind her of her loss, but Gashin or the other generals, Tansui, even Seirai. One morning in the middle of shooting, Gashin's bowstring broke. While the men were busy ribbing Gashin for it, Taiki bound his mane and asked an attendant to bring out the things that had been prepared for him, unbeknown to the king.

The bow was of bamboo, the glove of thick, molded felt. For anyone but a kirin it would have been leather. Taiki fastened it over his right hand; the fit was good. He asked for arrows, which the attendant brought.

Rising sunlight gleamed on the long green lawn, the bright walls that surrounded it, the blue eaves. Before his nerves could fail him, Taiki stepped into position, in line with the target, bowing once to the king as he did. The men had fallen silent. Gyousou was watching, staring, with eyes as keen as a falcon's over a fledgling about to leap from the nest. The others' faces showed pure amazement, even shock.

Taiki nocked the first arrow, then turned his head to face the target. Slowly he raised the bow, and just as slowly he drew it down and open, until his gloved hand was level with his cheek. His arms trembled at the strain, but they remembered the movements. He took aim. Released.

The arrow nicked the far right rim of the target, but plunged into the mound of grass-covered earth behind.

Taiki let out his breath. He tried to clear his mind before he drew again, and to steady his arms, but he was too aware of Gyousou's gaze, and it had been too many years since he'd attempted this. The second arrow flew even wider than the first. Lowering the bow, he brought his hands to his sides and turned his head with a feeble smile.

"It's been a long time," he said.

Gyousou was already striding toward him, reaching to clasp the grip of the bow.

"Wherever did you learn this?"

His tone was avid, tender, startlingly so. It was a strange pitch for the outdoor field. Taiki ducked his head, conscious of the onlookers, but he turned toward that voice as he always did, with helpless pleasure.

"In Hourai," he answered. "It was part of my schooling." Lessons in physical education class, in middle school and high school both. He had been surprised, even then, at his capability.

"It's part of our schooling here, of course," said Gyousou. He shook his head. "Every official learns to shoot. But no one would put a weapon in a kirin's hands."

He exchanged their two bows, entrusting his own to Taiki and taking hold of Taiki's to examine it, drawing it himself to test the feel. Taiki knew better than to think he might do the same with Gyousou's. The pull weight would be too great for him.

"I don't mind archery," he said. "Not with targets."

Gyousou handed the bow back to him. Taiki kept his eyes on his master's face.

"I didn't mean to cause a scene," he said quietly, "I only thought...I thought we might practice together, and maybe you could teach me." He flushed. "You say you're only middling, Master, but you're much better than I am."

The king was smiling, with a particular flash to his eyes that Taiki thought he had never seen, not directed at him. He had seen pleasure there before, of course, and joy. Not this specific joy. It stopped his breath, stopped the uncertain stammering of his heart. Gyousou stepped back a pace and gestured with his gloved hand.

"Show me your form again."


	9. "Coup Sauvage"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ill-considered trim.

There ought to be a limit, Taiki thought, but it kept growing. When it reached the middle of his back he asked his maids to trim it, just to even the ends, but the request met with scandal and refusal. Put shears to the Taiho's honorable person--impossible--in his compassion he must forgive their disobedience. When Taiki asked why it was impossible, they fell prostrate with no explanation, begging his pardon until he bade them to get up.

In the end he found a pair of shears himself, along with a hand-mirror, and tried to trim his hair when it was wet from the bath. He was unsure that the after was any neater than the before, and he somehow cut off more than he'd intended. That night at the Residence, as he sat crosslegged on a divan to comb out the drying strands, the king paused briefly in undressing to look at him, then paused longer and looked again.

Taiki lowered the comb to his lap. "I trimmed it," he said. "A little." Under scrutiny he began to feel like a delinquent child.

"A little."

"More than I meant to."

Still half-mantled in court robes, Gyousou dismissed the attendants and sat on the divan next to Taiki. His regard was considering. Taiki turned the comb over in his hands.

"I asked the maids first, but they wouldn't."

"Cut a kirin's mane? Of course not. You may as well have asked them to dock your tail."

"Oh." The breath went out of him as Gyousou's arms swept him up and wrapped him tight. Brocade sleeves covered his lap, the comb in his hands, his bare feet tucked under his folded knees. Nuzzles parted the damp hair across his nape. His master's voice sank into the pores of his skin.

"If you must have it shorter, I'll cut it for you. If you must."

Taiki listened and said, "No, I think...I think I'll let it grow."


	10. "Something Borrowed"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stolen robe.

That evening Gyousou was kept late in session with the Minister of State, poring over revenues, so Taiki bathed and retired alone. It still felt strange to him--intrusive--to wander through Seishin in Gyousou's absence as if he belonged there, as if Seishin were his own residence as well as the king's. He still felt himself a guest, if a welcome one, even though the attendants behaved as though he had every right to be there, and Gyousou had told him plainly to be at ease.

_Return to your own chambers, if you must. But I would sooner come back to find you here than go hunting for you elsewhere in the hour of the dog._

And truth be told, Taiki had never spent enough time in the little residence directly west of Seishin to feel that it was home, either, any more than he had felt at home in the Hall of Profound Compassion, where a kirin should properly reside. Neither of them were places he felt any impulse to retreat to. Restless, he put down his reading--the annals of the kingdom--and left the king's study for the bedchamber, where the lamps burned low.

A phrase from his English lessons at school kept playing through his mind as he undressed. _Make yourself at home._

The sentiment was apt. He understood that his master would approve. But home was a presence to him, not a place.

His glance fell on the nightclothes lying folded near the bed.

*

It was past the hour of the dog when the king returned from his ablutions. Taiki heard him speaking to an attendant in the study, too quietly to make out the words. When Gyousou entered the bedchamber, he looked at once to the bed and saw that Taiki was awake.

Before he could be chided for waiting up, Taiki asked: "Are we still poor?"

"Penniless," said Gyousou, but he had noticed what Taiki was wearing. The set of his lips verged on a smile. He came near and pushed the gauze curtain entirely aside, easing himself down on the edge of the bed. "Though not so poor we cannot clothe the Saiho in things of his own." With one hand he smoothed the dark blue sleeve that covered Taiki's arm, in a gesture both exploratory and proprietary.

Taiki curled into the robe as if into the warmth of a winter cloak. It was too big for him, and the hem of it might have tripped him if he'd tried to walk any distance in it, but there was no danger of that while lying in bed. The whole of it was lined with Gyousou's scent.

"I like this one," he said.

"It suits you." Gyousou's voice was low. "Better than I would've guessed."

Taiki looked up at him. "Don't you remember? What I was wearing on Mount Hou, when I chose you."

"I remember. That suited you, too." Gyousou's hand moved from the sleeve to where the robe parted over Taiki's breastbone. He drew the two sides together, closing them, as if to seal a letter in profound approval, but the look in his eyes made Taiki feel as if instead he'd opened them and slid his hand beneath. "The question now is, what am I to wear?"


	11. "Temperance"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conspiracy in En. AU.

As soon as Gyousou marked the color of the pillars outside the otherwise stately inn, he stopped in his tracks. He had no desire to offend his host, or to cut short their tour, but neither had he any desire to set foot in a brothel.

"I must decline," he said.

King En appeared to have been expecting this. "Best twice-distilled rice liquor in Kankyuu," he said. "Served here and nowhere else."

"Still, I must decline."

"It's just the two of us. Your 'other half' need never know."

"I would know," said Gyousou.

En studied him in open fascination, as though he were a hitherto unknown and unlikely sort of magical beast.

"Do you mean to say you've never done anything in secret from Taiki?"

Gyousou shook his head. "I have," he said. "And it was badly done."

En managed to look amused--indulgent--as well as impressed. The expression was mildly insulting, but Gyousou supposed one must tolerate it from the instigator of a five-hundred-year reign. "Well, far be it from me to tell you your business. How's this: I swear on the honor of your Taiho that no harm will come to your honor beyond these doors, if you'll come in and have a drink. It's worth the trouble." En grinned. "Or will you not be able to resist temptation if you go in?"

*

The twice-distilled rice liquor, as it turned out, was very good. They drank in an elegantly furnished dining room, at a table in an alcove that overlooked the courtyard garden. The entire staff seemed familiar with King En, or rather with "Fuukan" as he chose to call himself in the world below. The waitress who served their drinks chatted briefly, but made no attempt to insinuate herself further, and soon left them to their conversation.

"Taiki's gotten to be about that age," said En, as if musing aloud.

Gyousou lowered his cup and stared.

En snorted like a schoolmaster over a miswritten character. "Come now, I thought we were both men of understanding. You moreso than me. I have to say, I'm a bit envious. I've often wished Rokuta had managed to put on another year or two before he gave up growing. That peach could stand to be a little less unripe." He downed the rest of the liquor in his cup. "So, have you plucked the black plum of Tai yet, or no?"

Gyousou was so taken aback by the question--by the fact that anyone, even the king of En in his cups, would presume to ask it--that he was slow to reply. But this was one of the boons of friendship with En, he told himself. The reminder of what it felt like to have his sword knocked from his grip once in a while. Once in a long while was more than enough.

En took his pause for an answer and thumped the tabletop in dismay.

"Damn you, man, what's stopping you? Weren't you supposed to be champing at the bit? Now I owe Rokuta a hundred sen."

 _You make bets with your Taiho over such things?_ Gyousou wondered, but didn't ask. He took a drink. "Surely En's coffers can afford it."

"That's not the point. The point is--"

Gyousou was rescued from the point by their waitress, who reappeared to beg their pardon and inquire whether a Lord Saku was present.

"He is," Gyousou replied. She bowed graciously.

"Milord, your presence is requested upstairs."

"Upstairs?" Gyousou frowned.

"Another guest requests the honor of your presence. A young gentleman. He gave no name."

Gyousou turned to En with eyes narrowed. "If this is some scheme--"

"I know nothing of it," said En, with too-hearty innocence. "The madam employs no young gentlemen here. Shall I go with you upstairs, to fend off ambushes?"

Declining, Gyousou took his leave and allowed the waitress to guide him to the second floor. They proceeded down an open-air hallway to a private room, where the waitress gestured to the door, bowed, and departed.

Gyousou opened the door. It led to a bedroom, of course--one as well-furnished, even sumptuous, as the rest of the inn. The bed was empty, undisturbed. Waiting on a divan near it was the Saiho of Tai, who sat up at the sight of him in plain relief.

"Master Gyousou!"

Stepping inside, Gyousou shut the door behind him. He felt a peculiar mixture of exasperation and good humor. "Kouri. What are you doing here?"

"I don't know," said Kouri. His expression was nearly wry. "It was En Taiho's idea--he insisted. He said you'd be here, and that I should come."

Gyousou sat down next to him, on the same divan. "And those clothes?"

They weren't exactly unbecoming for a kirin to wear, but the silks were brighter than anything Kouri had brought with him from Tai. The sleeves dangled, absurdly long, and the sash was tied in a style that Gyousou recognized as favored by certain sets of courtiers. Courtiers about which Kouri would likely have no notion, though he was looking down at himself ruefully nonetheless.

"The ladies-in-waiting at the palace brought them, before we left. I think that was En Taiho's idea, too. He said my other things were too formal, and these were better. For going out."

Gyousou withheld a sigh. He might have expected this sort of chicanery from Han, but not from En. Perhaps they were secretly in league these days, and there was no escape on any front.

"Master," said Kouri, "is this place...what I think it is?"

"It is."

"Oh. It's...different from what I imagined."

 _You spend time imagining brothels?_ Gyousou wondered, but didn't ask. "It does seem to be one of the better class of such places. King En is fond of the drink they serve."

"Oh."

"I'm not sure what our hosts had in mind, in bringing us here," he continued, "but you and I are not obliged to stay. Unless you wish to."

Eyes lowered, Kouri shook his head. "En Taiho showed me another inn, on the way," he said. "Without green pillars. They have the best stuffed buns in Kankyuu, he said."

"Stuffed buns," murmured Gyousou. "I see. Could you find your way back to it?"

"I think so," Kouri said.

*

The stuffed buns, as it turned out, were very good. The meatless versions ("kirin buns," according to the menu, about which Gyousou made no remark) were filled with mushrooms, greens, and seasoned bean curd. The lodge that served them was more rustic in style than the brothel had been, if just as well-kept and clean. Watching Kouri savor the meal, Gyousou shrugged off the traces of whatever machinations had led them to it, and relaxed in his chair. When they had both eaten a good portion, he ordered rice wine--not spirits--since Kouri was learning a taste for the former, though not the latter yet.

"What do you say," he asked, when they had sampled the wine. It had a faint scent of flower petals. Chrysanthemum, perhaps. "Shall we take a room?"

Kouri paused in filling their cups--he had to hold back the impractical sleeves as he did so--and blinked, though he scarcely reddened at all. "But...shouldn't we go back to the palace? Won't it be rude if we don't?"

"Our hosts will think their plot foiled if we do."

"Foiled?" Kouri blinked again. "I wouldn't want to put them out."

For his part, Gyousou saw no harm in foiling, not in principle, but at the moment he was inclined to concede the field. He smiled. "Just so."

They took a room, and had a bath brought. Kouri sent his shirei to stand sentry outside the door. The wooden bathtub was only large enough to accommodate one at a time, but that meant they could have the pleasure of watching one another. Gyousou intended to let Kouri precede him, as was his habit in such cases--there was no purer water than what a kirin had touched--but Kouri said the bathwater was too hot when it was first brought. Gyousou was content to be boiled, so he shed his clothing and stepped in.

Kouri settled down beside the tub, one arm draped along the rim. He seemed more pensive than he had been at dinner, and sounded diffident when he spoke.

"En Taiho said...he talked as if King En goes to places like that all the time."

Gyousou splashed steaming water over his face, then wiped it away. "So it seems."

"You don't," said Kouri. It was not a question, but there was questioning behind it.

"No, not since I was very young." Fully a lifetime ago.

"Is that...is it because..."

"I dislike the business." Gyousou scrubbed himself briskly with a cloth as he spoke. "It entraps young women and young boys, those who have no other choices. Some do choose the work, or find it comfortable, but too many don't."

Kouri nodded. After a pause he said, in a very small voice, "I think some people might be glad, though, to serve a king. That way."

Trust a kirin to suppose so. But it was true enough. "Some are," Gyousou agreed. "You know my predecessor kept concubines."

Eyes downcast, Kouri nodded again.

"Some of those began as courtesans. They may have been pleased with their lot. I cannot say."

He drew his hands from the water and opened them, palms up, in front of Kouri's eyes.

"I dislike the business, but even if that were not so, I am no patron. Bad enough that I hold you in hands that have ended lives. I would not use them to hold a prostitute one night, and you the next. If there are kings who can do such things, I am not one of them."

The look of uncertainty and inward distress on Kouri's face only worsened. It baffled Gyousou, so much so that he spoke more curtly than he meant to, and asked questions whose answers he already knew.

"Would you have it otherwise? Would have me open the North Palace and fill it with whores?"

Kouri hung his head. "No, but..."

"But?"

"Is it...with just me...am I enough?"

For a moment Gyousou was as startled as he had been at En's irreverence. He reached forward and clasped Kouri's head in his hands, palms damp on the dark mane, one on either side. Leaning in, he brought their foreheads close together and spoke low, much less curtly than before, but soberly.

"If you saw yourself as I do, you would not ask such things. You would not need to."

Kouri gazed back at him, unspeaking.

Letting go, Gyousou stood up and stepped out of the tub. "Now get in, before I drop you in. It's cooler than it was. Soak your head, and think on how I love you."

That earned him a hurried _yes my lord,_ and Kouri scrambled out of his clothes, or tried to and fumbled at his sash, which was tied in a fashion unfamiliar to him. Gyousou reached to help him with the knot, and then helped him with the rest when the knot was undone. The green silk pooled on the floor. Kouri twisted his mane into a loose plait, stepped into the bath, and knelt, closing his eyes at the water's heat.

Soon his eyes reopened, dark and clear and contrite. "Master Gyousou, I'm sorry."

"I'm not angry." Rising, Gyousou toweled himself briefly and shrugged into one of the inn's robes. He went to the dresser where his clothing lay to fish out his pipe and tobacco, smiling a little crookedly as he did. "Not even if you think me an intemperate ape."

"I don't--!"

"But if this is what En leads you to fret about, we'll keep to Kei next time. Their influence is better."

Kouri was scrubbing his face, perhaps harder than he ought to. When he pulled his hands down, his cheeks were bright. "Master, I'm glad you don't go to brothels. If you were like King En I'd be miserable. He was unkind to me that one time, too, when I was little. When he tried to make me bow. I haven't forgotten."

Gyousou laughed. "He was only playing the villain then. They have their ways, and we have ours. Leave it at that."

He sat down on the bed and filled his pipe, having learned long since that Kouri would be made shy by too blatant scrutiny, like a half-tame beast still wary of outright attention. Subtle observation was permitted. If Gyousou seemed to be occupied with some other task, at least in part, Kouri would be reassured. He was using the same cloth Gyousou had used for washing, although a fresh one was draped on the rim of the tub. Gyousou raised his pipe to his lips and puffed on it, well content.

When Kouri finished bathing, Gyousou rose to empty his pipe, then returned to the bed. He saw Kouri reaching for a robe and said, "Never mind that."

Kouri gave him a sideways look.

"Unless you're cold."

It was not cold in the room, and Kouri's skin was flushed from the bath. He said nothing, but left the robe where it lay and lowered his chin. He shook out his mane so that it fell down loose around him, wet in some strands at the tips. It was nearly long enough to cover his nakedness. Gyousou watched him comb it loosely with curled fingers, then shake it again.

His caught his own fingers on the verge of curling, and laughed at himself in silence as he counseled patience to them. He told Kouri, "En was asking whether I'd plucked you yet."

"Plucked me?" Kouri tilted his head and puffed a small laugh. "Like an eggfruit? What did you say?"

"Nothing. It's no business of his." Though there were shades of poetry in _the black plum of Tai,_ thought Gyousou. He extended a hand as Kouri approached. "Old busybodies, the pair of them. They should be graybeards eight times over, you know."

"And Master Gyousou?"

"A graybeard only once."

"My lord is spry for his age," said Kouri serenely. He broke into huffs of laughter as Gyousou caught hold of him and swept him onto the bed. Rumbling, Gyousou rolled him down and turned them both, then bent to nuzzle. He set teeth gently to the ball of Kouri's shoulder, thoughtful in his nips.

It was good that they had left the other place for this one. Even the best of brothels were for young rakes, the feckless, the insatiable, for old men playing at being young. He himself was none of those, and highly satiable. How it would be in five hundred years, no one could say, but Gyousou knew his disposition. He knew his Kouri. And a kirin was in one person a very kingdom. If a king was not satisfied with his own kingdom, he was too covetous. Especially when his kingdom was as comely as this.


	12. "Bodyguards"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shirei on duty.

"Gouran!" scolded Sanshi.

Gouran drew back from the door. If he'd been in any shape to loll his tongue, he would have, but he had taken on the semblance of a human female--a maidservant--so that no one in the inn should find it odd to catch him listening at doors. Did human females loll their tongues? He had never witnessed it. He lolled anyway, experimentally.

From her hiding place in the hallway shadows Sanshi projected an air of deep disapproval. She'd been insufferable ever since their release from that celestial hag's clutches on Mount Hou. Trying to atone for whatever little excesses had gone on in Hourai. Wretched nyokai. Sanctimonious.

"You forget your place," she was hissing. "This time of respite with the king is precious to Taiki. Our task is to safeguard it, not to--"

"I was listening for intruders," said Gouran.

"Intruders from where? There is no window within, and no other door!"

"We can never be too careful. It's when we least expect it that enemies strike."

At that Sanshi subsided--until Gouran shook off his guise, plunged back into shadow, and surged through the crack under the door.

"Gouran!"

If anything was likely to disturb Taiki, it would be her yowling, Gouran thought. Hidden in shadow, he observed the so-called respite for a while. It looked mostly unrestful, if a bit different from how beasts went about such things in the wild. A bit more tame. Still plenty of licking involved. Soon Gouran's interest faded in favor of indignation. When he emerged into the hallway, Sanshi was seething.

"No intruders," he told her. "But it's unjust."

_"Unjust?"_

"That I must wait for Taiki's death to taste his flesh, when that man--" who was no match for a toutetsu, as Gouran recalled, "--can taste it as he pleases. Alive and fresh."

Sanshi was struck dumb with outrage. Gouran lolled his tongue again. He found it lolled much better when he had a long snout and sharp teeth.


	13. "Recess"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A study break.

They worked late night after night, side by side if not together. For Gyousou there was no end to decrees, no end to reports of disaster--flooding in the valleys as seven years' worth of winter ice melted in the highlands, roads and bridges swept away in the lowlands downstream--and stopgap measures to allay it. Ministers and generals came and went from Seishin, always more or less haggard, offering weary but heartfelt bows and greetings to the Saiho who sat at the same table as the king.

For Taiki there was no end to studying. If he was to be of any real use, something more than a dumb lodestone, he had to learn more of both Tai and governance, and quickly. He had traveled through the kingdom, but he still understood so little of how it was meant to run when it was not fallen into ruin, and of how it had come to be what it was. Amid the frantic scrabble of restoration no one could be spared to lead him by the nose though his education, as if he were still a child. Nor would he want them to.

Nor would he want them to, but he found himself staring down ruefully at a volume of the annals, baffled again. The passage he had just read twice in succession remained opaque. The characters wavered in front of his eyes, as if the lamplight had faltered. Resigned, he marked the passage lightly, then rubbed his eyes and looked over at his master, at the cup on the table between them.

The cup was empty. Without a second thought Taiki rose from his seat and went into the antechamber to ask for more tea. When it was brought he carried the tray back to the table himself, and set the lidded cup in front of Gyousou. The king glanced up with a faint smile.

"Robbing the attendants of their work again," he observed.

"I wanted to get up and clear my head," murmured Taiki.

Gyousou removed the lid from the tea and drank. As he set the cup down he reached across the table for the open volume of the annals Taiki had been reading.

"These marks," he said, with a tap of his finger to the margin. "What are they?"

If he had been less tired Taiki might have had the grace to flush. "Passages I need to ask Seirai about tomorrow, because I couldn't make them out."

Gyousou leaned back in his chair. "Seirai is the better scholar, it's true. But you might ask the one at hand."

Taiki blinked, then let out a soft puff of breath. "I couldn't--I didn't want to--" He broke off, flustered. "Master, you're working."

"Am I permitted no rest, then?" The glint in Gyousou's eyes was wry. "Usually you advise the opposite."

Taiki lowered his head. "It doesn't count as rest if you're having to tutor me."

"No?" Abruptly Gyousou stood. He took the annals in hand and crossed the room, sitting down at a divan near the window. When he was settled he indicated the space at his side. "You must let me be the judge of that."

When Taiki balked--not because he didn't want to obey, but because he did, badly--the king told him not to be obstinate, not in this.

"Come here," he said, plainly but not ungently. "If you want none of my help, so be it, but humor me for a moment."

Abashed, Taiki went to him. As soon as he sat down, of course, the greater part of him wanted only to huddle into Gyousou's side, to fit himself into the drape of that vast sleeve and listen to Gyousou's voice, to let it make sense of everything he couldn't. The longing for closeness trumped all else, even his resolve not to be a burden. He sighed a little in dismay at his own vicissitudes. When Gyousou reopened the annals Taiki looked up at his face, not at the page.

"Master," he said, "it isn't that I don't want your help. But if we are going to take a rest...." He had to look down again. His hands were curled on top of his knees. "Which I do think is a good idea...I'd rather take a real one."

The arm around him shifted. "Which would entail?"

Bed, thought Taiki, and the two of them sitting as they were, with fewer robes between them. But he could hardly say _that._ Instead he leaned more heavily and set his chin against Gyousou's shoulder. "No annals?"

Gyousou let the book fall shut.


	14. "In Season"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kirin in heat AU.

The season had overtaken Taiki like a change in mood. Now he was tired at midday, now restless late into the midnight hours; now skittish at a hand laid on his shoulder, now lost in a distracted haze. During morning court his eyes, usually limpid and attentive on whichever minister was speaking, took on a glassy cast, or fixed on the middle distance as if his life depended on meeting no one's gaze. His color grew wan and flushed by turns. He shied from Gyousou's glances, but when the assembly ended and the courtiers dispersed, he followed into the corridor with visible relief.

For the sake of both caution and conviction, Gyousou prescribed a day of rest. He brooked no resistance. Taiki offered almost none, merely nodded and withdrew.

By nightfall he was shivering at the entrance to Gyousou's private chambers, begging _please don't send me away._

Gyousou dismissed the attendants. He had long since been forewarned of this quirk of kirin nature, though no amount of forewarning could forearm him, not against the unguarded yearning on Taiki's face.

"Do you feel ill?" he asked, to be certain.

"I'm not sick. I can't be. I'm not."

"No, I think not," murmured Gyousou. "But I might still ease you. Come here."

There are two ways, En had told him once, out of something akin to neighborly goodwill. _You can shut him up in Jinjuuden for half a month, keep well away, and go about your business, or you can declare a holiday, and take him someplace where you won't be disturbed. As for which method is better, well--you'll work it out. When the time comes._

And the time had come, it seemed, no different in essentials from any other spring. In the world below, first lowlands and then uplands had sloughed off their winter coats. Rivers and becks down to the thinnest rivulets swelled to brimming in their banks, on the verge of flooding but never past it, kept in check by temperate reign. Above the clouds, the white plum trees outside the Taiho's residence smothered paths with a profusion of shed petals. The blossoms that persisted on the boughs drooped and quivered under their own weight, straining to fall.

He led Taiki to the divan, sat down, drew him onto his outspread lap. Gyousou had scarcely begun a kiss when Taiki gripped the collar of his robe and clenched, hard enough to rend silk if those mild hands had been tipped with claws.

It was not the usual response. The whimper that threaded through the kiss was more insistent than shy. The cant of Taiki's hips into his midriff was not shy at all. When Gyousou broke away, Taiki let him know at once that kisses were not to be broken, and the next should go on much longer, and _please_ and _Master_ and _more_.

Gyousou let himself be instructed. He undid throat and shoulder clasps, worked his hands under the dark outer robe and then beneath the inner. His fingers splayed on skin.

Taiki caught his breath and arched, as if to match the line of his body to the curve of Gyousou's palm. When strands of mane slipped in disarray across his face, he tossed them back.

"You're right," Gyousou murmured. "You're not ill. Healthy, rather. In excess." To stave off any discontent he stroked warmly up and down the length of Taiki's back. "Did the sages never speak to you of this? Or the other Taiho?"

Taiki lowered his chin. "They didn't tell me I'd want to in the throne room."

"Well. In that you exceed expectation." Gyousou managed not to laugh; he could not help but smile. "Do you feel easier now?"

A nod. Then a whisper: "When you touch me."

If he had not already been at full attention, he would have risen at that. The difference between men and beasts was that men were in rut without ceasing. All the same, he knew his duty: its coincidence with pleasure was no reason to shirk it, whether for a fortnight or a thousand years. He pulled Taiki close, a little roughly, without fear of being thought over-fierce. He brought his lips to Taiki's ear before he spoke.

"More?"


	15. "Gifts"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renrin recalls a visit to Tai.

The frangipani and hibiscus were blooming in the courtyard. Renrin asked for the two scrolls to be brought to her there, the large and the small, to a table wrought of glass and rattan. The smaller scroll contained a scholar's treatise. She opened it gently and began to read.

> _The painting depicts a conservatory built in the North Palace, presented by King Tai to Tai Taiho in commemoration of the eighty-eighth year of their dynasty. The conservatory is sometimes called the Crystal Palace, although this name is not in official use by the administration. Over time rumor has magnified the conservatory's proportions, so much so that viewers of the painting are often surprised at the scale of the building as shown, which is modest._
> 
> _The trees in the foreground are dwarf varieties of orange, almond, pomegranate, and_ koukashou _, all blooming or bearing fruit without respect to season. The smaller flora are orchids and bromeliads. In the pomegranate tree a pair of birds can be seen nesting. The larger bird is white, the smaller--_

  


Renrin raised her head. Even in woman-shape, her limbs recalled better than her mind the long run across the sky, the stark spires of northbound wind beyond the Yellow Sea, the air thin and strange under her hooves. Then rooftops of blue, walls and parapets of white. A king in robes of state who leaned forward to confide in her his rue: _I cannot spoil him. He forbids it. It was easier when he was small. I gave him a pony and he talked of nothing else for days._

She had saved her laughter for a safer hour. He was a daunting man, but she had seen him first through Taiki, years before meeting him in person, and forgot in his presence to be daunted. She thought instead of her own dear lord, of the gifts he gave her: baskets of lychees still clad in leaves and rough skins, warm breadfruit, full bowls of crimson fortune. There were the orchards in spring, their fragrance that lit the halls and walkways of Urou Palace with white sweetness. She loved the trees for their blossoms as much as for their yield. Perhaps Tai Taiho might take pleasure in a gift of flowers, she said. The king of Tai narrowed his eyes, a hawk detecting movement in the grass.

Months after her return to Ren, after the New Year, a letter came from Tai in the Taiho's own hand. _The parties in Kouki are like riots,_ he wrote, _and I don't think the fireworks ever stop. Everywhere I go there are red banners like mainsails that say "Prosperity Prosperity," twice, as if once isn't enough. Master Gyousou gave me a present, a glasshouse. It has trees and plants in it that won't grow here otherwise, because of the cold. It's so beautiful. I know the koukashou came from Ren, so I wanted to thank you. I wish I could show everyone how beautiful it is._

She put down the smaller of the scrolls. Her lord was approaching. She felt him as a measured steadiness, a pace familiar and comfortable above all other paces. She removed the larger scroll from its case to unfurl it across the table before the maidservant announced him.

He was still in his field clothes, mud-stained at the knees. "Oh, is that the painting you were telling me about?"

"Yes. It just arrived today," Renrin said. The glasshouse in the picture caught his attention at once.

"They've really taken an interest in gardening. Sign of maturity, I think."

She didn't disagree. She gestured to the fruits whorled of deep red ink. "Your Majesty's gift is thriving."

"It ought to, if they look after it. That was good rootstock." Dirt clung to his fingers, making little dark crescents of his nails. He was careful not to touch the paper with his hands. He leaned closer, peering at the signature. "Who's the artist?"

"'Kouri' is Tai Taiho's given name."

"Ah! I forgot. At least his stays the same. I can never keep track of the little girl from Han." He studied the depicted scene. "Those trees are spot on, but the birds are, hmm."

"Invented."

"That's the word." He was smiling, pleased she had supplied it. It was safe to smile here, to laugh. Renrin did laugh when he said they ought to send pruning knives, a trowel, something to give that stern fellow a breather from the sword and the rein.

"We would hate to overstep our friendship," she said.

"You're right, of course. Tai Taiho will get him a trowel when he needs one." The king straightened. "Where shall we put the painting?"


End file.
